


On the Road (with my punk vampire pseudo-boyfriends)

by The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea



Series: Family [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Autism, Definitely more to come!, Drabbles, Fluff, Other, autistic headcanon, neurodivergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea/pseuds/The_Secret_Life_Of_Tea
Summary: The Rowdy Three are autistic, and this is Amanda's experiences with them and their budding friendship.





	1. Video Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SingingTheThunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingTheThunder/gifts), [notnatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notnatural/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A feeling of freedom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10366908) by [notnatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notnatural/pseuds/notnatural). 



> So! DGHDA is my new special interest, and much as I love autistic!Dirk, I was feeling the need for autistic!Rowdies. I love them all so much, and feel very inspired to write about them and Amanda's role in the group.

The rowdies were into video games. Of course they were, video games meant crashing and exploding and ka-ka-ka-powww! as Vogel liked to put it. And despite requiring a semblance of attention span-- which the group seemed to be lacking in save for their single-minded pursuit of their next meal-- the intense sounds, graphics, and pseudo-similarity to their lives made video games something Cross referred to as "a worthwhile waste of time". 

Right now, Amanda was curled up with her head settled on Vogel's stomach, watching as he blew yet another car sky-high and let out a raucous screech. Vogel made a plethora of sounds with his mouth, but seemed limited when it came to actual words. That didn't mean he was lesser-than, as the other rowdies liked to remind Amanda. "Don't you think he's a moron, drummer girl," Gripps had growled at her when she wondered aloud just how much was going through that head of Vogel's. "He's jus' a little different, is all." Amanda got the message, and didn't treat him any different from the others, except when he needed accommodations or help with something. 

Another piercing shriek caught Amanda's attention, and she grinned at Vogel. "New high score?" she asked, and Vogel nodded vigorously, echoing her. "New high score?Yeeeaaahhh!" He flapped his hands proudly. His excitement proved contagious, and Amanda beamed at him. 

Martin and Cross were on a food run, grabbing burgers for themselves but mainly for Amanda. They didn't require as much food as the average human, but they liked to engage their taste buds from time to time. Amanda didn't blame them; even punk vampires couldn't resist the pull of McDonald's. Gripps, meanwhile, was slouched in the driver's seat, thumbing away at his beat-up Nintendo. Amanda, curiosity piqued, leaned over, pressing her chin against his leather-clad shoulder. "Whatcha playing there, Gripps?" 

He stiffened, and Amanda could see why instantly. "Oh, my god, you're not playing Animal Crossing right now, are you?" 

His hunched shoulders told her all she needed to know, and she burst into a fit of giggles. 

"Hey, Animal Crossing's not a bad game," Gripps snarled, menacing. 

Vogel's head shot up as he tuned into the conversation, and he narrowed his eyes, backing up Gripps silently. Amanda stopped laughing (mostly). 

"But isn't it too, I dunno, boring for you all?" she asked. Gripps snorted. 

"Naw, girl. It's fun once you get the shit going, like, bells and whatever," he said as he stroked back Vogel's hair from the kid's eyes. Vogel all but purred, melting a bit into his palm, and Gripps chuckled. "You can join our town, if you like. 'S called MurderHole."

Amanda pictured the rowdies' characters sending death threats via letter to their citizens and couldn't stifle a smile. "Sounds good, Gripps."


	2. Adrift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more, haha! I am so fired up to keep writing these.

Martin and Cross knocked on the windows of the van, quickly and completely scaring the absolute shit out of Amanda. It was a running joke that because she slept with one eye open for trouble, that she was the van's security system. At any rate, her gasp woke Gripps and Vogel at once, and they glared out the window before dissolving into relieved grins at the two instigators. 

"Can I interest madam and sirs in a lovely aromatic bouquet of cheap-ass, greasy burgers?" Cross asked, waving a bag dangling from his fingers. Vogel's eyes lit right up and he pawed at the window, looking frustrated until Amanda unlocked the door and let Martin and Cross in. He smashed his head against the seat, huffing through his nose, until Cross reached over and squeezed his wrist. 

"Hey, man. No need to get mad, the door was just locked," he murmured, surprisingly gentle, and Vogel relaxed, shoulders slumping a bit. 

Martin watched the two for a few seconds before turning his attention to Amanda. His gaze was protective, intensely so, and it took Amanda's breath away. "Hey, drummer girl. Hungry?" he offered the bag Cross had dropped onto the van floor, making a face at the grease dripping onto the (admittedly already nasty) carpet. She accepted the bag with a nod, still groggy from her impromptu nap with Gripps and Vogel. Gripps had insisted on a cuddle puddle, and on a cold night such as this one, with the heat off to conserve gasoline, who was she to refuse? 

Vogel's puppy dog eyes had absolutely nothing to do with it, and Amanda would stand by that fact until she was in her grave. 

The rowdies settled into devouring their dinner as Martin sat alongside Amanda. He seemed a bit... off, fingers twitching and drumming a manic pattern on the fake leather, and only stopped when Amanda curled her hand over his. At the questioning look she gave him, he smirked and took his cigarette out from between his lips. 

"Ain't nothing brighter than these damn stars, huh?" he asked, and Amanda tipped her head back to look though the window with him. "Gotta be at least a million of 'em out there..."

Gripps chuckled. "Million an' two, I'd say, man."

Amanda let the voices wash over her until she was drifting along the stars, settled against Martin's worn-out jacket. 

\---

She woke to the sound of muffled cursing and steel-toed stomping from outside the van and knew something really was up with Martin. It was weird, in all the months she's been traveling with them, she'd never really seen much emotion from Martin aside from general bloodthirstiness and a smirky, cavalier attitude. But judging from the crash of a bat against metal, he most certainly was capable of deeper feeling. It was a tad unnerving.

 

Peering out of the van window proved to be a near-fatal idea as a serrated chunk of metal nearly took her head off her shoulders. Not to be deterred, she opened the door and stepped out gingerly, the spectacle before her drawing a short gasp into her lungs. 

Martin was surrounded by various debris, bat clenched in his fist. His head was bowed, shoulders drawn in like a kicked dog, and-- most distressingly of all-- he was crying. He let out another wordless shout and kicked at the metal roof Cross had been cutting to bits earlier in the evening. The group had ripped it from a shed, whooping and screaming as it tore free from the little structure; Amanda had thought it an oddly poignant sight, the roof separated so cruelly from its host. But now Martin seemed as lost as that damned roof as he sank to his knees, tucking his head against his chest. 

Amanda approached as one would toward a hurt creature, footsteps deliberate but soft. Martin didn't acknowledge her until she stood in front of him. "Martin?"

He swiped his sleeve across his eyes, rocking back and forth on his knees, and silently laid down at her feet. She sat down with him, gathering his head onto her leg and brushing her hand through his hair. 

After a liminal set of seconds had passed, Martin finally opened his eyes. His voice was rasping and breathy. "Sorry, drummer girl. Didn't want you to see me like that, let's go back to bed--"

Amanda shook her head before he was halfway finished with his sentence. "No, Martin, you don't get to brush this off. You stay here and you talk about this shit with me, or I'll get the others." He sighed shortly, but began to speak.

"Okay, so... you know how Vogel can't really talk a lot of the time and can't really turn off his volume control? And how Gripps hoards fabric and shiny shit? And how Cross repeats stuff a lot, and I... I forget to sleep and smoke that certain brand of cigarettes all the damn time? Well..." he hesitated, chewing on his lip, and Amanda understood all at once.

"You're all autistic," she said, and Martin ducked his head, ears burning red. "Hey, no. I don't care, honest, you're still my weirdo asshole... family," she finished, whispering the last word. Martin's ears pricked up, though, and he looked up at her, inscrutable, before breaking into a genuine smile. 

"Family," he said, wrapping an arm around her, and she hugged him back just as tight. 

"Family."


	3. Mouth Noises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I couldn't get this up sooner! Things got busy. I don't love this chapter-- the characterization feels off to me. I wanted fluff, though, so here!

“The mall?” Martin asked, a quizzical eyebrow lifted. The other rowdies considered this idea for about half a second, until Vogel let out a cheer. They exploded into screaming laughter and chants of “Mall! Mall! Mall!” 

“Yeah, the mall,” Amanda reiterated over the noise. Martin just looked baffled, and Amanda realized he was attempting to read her lips.

It had been about a week since Martin had experienced a meltdown and subsequently told Amanda the rowdies were autistic, and to be honest, it explained a lot about their behavior. All their little quirks were thrown into the light but not pathologized, or at least Amanda hoped so. She was trying her hardest not to treat them any different than she had previous.

Vogel punched the roof of the car and howled. "Go! Go to mall? Go to mall!"

Amanda noticed Martin's distress. He had a hard time with filtering out extraneous sensory information, especially with what he called "mouth noises". It all became mush to him unless he focused in, and all the others' shouting wasn't helping. 

"Guys, calm down a little," she said, but they paid her no mind, too caught up in their excitement. They were more attuned to actions and body language than words, and so Amanda placed a calming hand on Cross' chest and pressed down firmly. He all but melted at the pressure she provided, then nudged Gripps to chill out, who put Vogel in a playful headlock until he quit yelling. The van quiet, Martin refocused on Amanda. 

"Yeah, the mall. I think you guys need some more clothes... I haven't really seen you out of the ones on your backs since I got here," she explained, and Gripps looked down at himself. 

"What's the matter with these, Drummer Girl?" he scowled. Amanda shrugged. "They smell like shit and are full of holes?"

Gripps bared his teeth, but calmed somewhat when Vogel tapped his back rhythmically, drumming on his shoulder blades. 

"Yeah, Drummer, I guess you're right," Martin said, and turned round in his seat to look at the others. "We're goin' on a trip, boys."

\---

They stuck out like sore thumbs with their patched clothing and dangerous grins. People avoided them like schools of fish dodge circling sharks, unconscious and primal. Amanda looked at their harried expressions and smiled inwardly.  
The first store they entered was a Vans store. Cross gave an appreciative grunt at the shoes and looked to Amanda, uncertain. She pushed him forward gently, and they picked up some not-so-ragged shoes. 

Vogel was rocking on his heels, biting his lip and staring at a pair of shoes with velcro in place of laces. Amanda squeezed his shoulder tightly. “No shame, man. You’ll rock that velcro.” Vogel had troubles tying his laces; it was a lot of steps to consider, and he usually left them undone. He’d fallen flat on his face more than a few times in the month that Amanda had known him, and-- though it was endearing to see him fall down like a baby duck-- he’d expressed frustration. 

He grinned and grabbed the shoes, and Martin paid with the money they’d gotten from selling the expensive stuff they chanced upon when breaking into houses. 

Buying clothes didn't take too long, either. The rowdies were so unused to having actual money to buy clothing that they just sort of wandered around with wide eyes until bumping into their desired clothes. 

Vogel tugged Amanda's hand, holding a flowing kimono top patterned with bright red flowers. "That's from the women's section," Amanda told him, but he looked confused. "Women's section?" he echoed, and Amanda shrugged to herself. "Aw, never mind. You'll look awesome in it." Vogel beamed and raced off. 

Cross stopped short and gaped at a store opposite the one they were in. It was an educational learning store, outfitted with sensory items. He pointed. "Um... yes...?" he breathed, and Amanda shortly had a stampede of pumped rowdies picking out stimmy items. Gripps hummed jazz under his breath, Cross grinned hugely, Martin bounced and rocked on his toes, and Vogel flapped a mile a minute. Amanda laughed with them and purchased some thinking putty so she wouldn't be the odd one out. 

Suddenly, though, Vogel let out a pained whine. Martin turned, frowning. "Hey, kid. Can you tell me what's up?" The youngest rowdy shook his head violently and shoved over a display of balls, sending them bouncing down the store aisle. 

Cross and Gripps were at his side in a second, and Amanda joined the little circle they made around Vogel. It seemed to comfort him to have them near, and he reached out and gasped Amanda's hand bone-groaningly tight. 

"Hey, V. It's okay. This all too much right now, huh?" Gripps murmured, and Vogel nodded, chewing on his fingers. "Let's get you home. You can hug that new bear you got." At this Vogel lit up a little.

They got outside without incident, clustered around Vogel close as if he was the nucleus of their little group and they were protective electrons. And wasn't that the truth? Everyone loved Vogel for his energy and his affectionate, naive nature. 

They shoved the seats down and cuddled up with each other like a pile of newborn puppies. This was Amanda's favorite part of the day, when their family was closer than ever. She pressed against Gripps, and he pressed back gently, smiling. 

Curled around her family, Amanda slept soundly. There were no "mouth noises" needed.


	4. Sick, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one this time. My ADHD/autism wouldn't let me focus on anything and it felt like a good stopping point, and I'll continue it tomorrow!

"Who the everloving FUCK are you?" came a snarl from inside the van. Amanda almost dropped the bag of groceries she was holding, turning to face Cross. He leaned out the window, brow furrowed. 

"What are you, high?" Amanda laughed lightly, but the frown didn't slide off of Cross' face. "...It's me, Amanda," she said, and recognition shot across his face like ink permeating a glass of water. 

He ducked back inside the van, and Amanda heard conferring voices leak through the cracked window. "...Is it her? --I had no freaking idea!" Cross told the others.

Martin's voice came through: "Yeah, that's Drummer Girl all right. See her jacket?" Amanda was wearing a beat-up leather jacket just like the others, complete with homemade patches Gripps had sewn for her. Renderings of the anarchist symbol, a pair of drum sticks, and a cactus plant all decorated her jacket, but her favorite was the "R3" patch over her heart. All of the rowdies wore that same patch in the same place. 

She knocked at the van. It was cold and she was impatient to get into the heated van-- it turned out Cross was a decent mechanic and had finally got the heating unit in the van figured out, thank God.

...Not that it meant that the cuddle puddles came to an end, but that was beside the point. 

Martin all but tore open the van door and dragged her inside. "Damn, Drummer. It's freezing out," he said as he threw an old afghan around her. "We'll have a bonfire tonight, yeah?" She nodded, peering over at Cross, who was staring at his toes. 

"Uh," he mumbled, scratching at the back of his head, "sorry. Sometimes can't... can't tell who people are if they change their face or whatever."

Amanda understood suddenly, a hand flying up to touch her shortened hair. It was only a few inches shorter-- it had been getting rather raggedy as of late-- but it had been enough to completely confound Cross. She shrugged him off, not looking at him and rubbing her arms to keep warm. 

The rowdies clustered around her like they did after Vogel had a meltdown, and she scowled up at them all. "What? I'm fine." They merely pressed a bit closer, moving in sync like a primal pack of animals sniffing out prey.

"You don't look good," Gripps decided, and she found herself scooped up into his arms close, Martin's hand sneaking through to rest on her forehead. "Drummer's sick," he announced neutrally. 

"Let me go!" she yelled, indignant, but Gripps wasn't having it. He hit the recline lever on the driver's seat and lowered her into it while the others hovered nervously. 

"Sick?" Vogel whispered, wringing his hands. 

"Sick..." Cross echoed him gravely.


	5. Sick, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorter one, from Martin's point of view. I'm working on the next chapter of this as I type, I just like the idea of these being shorter, interconnected chapters (part of a whole vignette type thing). ((ALSO I JUST WNTED TO POST CUZ I LOVE YOU ALL))

Outside the van, the rowdies stood in the icy, sheeting rain, seemingly unbothered by the cold. Martin was chewing his the inside of his cheek, the ever-present cigarette usually hanging off his bottom lip useless in the unforgiving weather; Vogel bounced up and down on his heels and paced intently; Cross merely held his arms tight in a sort of self-hug to his chest, craving deep pressure; and Gripps flickered his fingers in an up-and-down flurry to calm himself. 

They stood in apparent silence for a few seconds, but they spoke to each other via a tight telepathic link. It was their preferred communication. 

Martin mentally cut through the static of the others' thoughts, wincing as Vogel's swirling sensations moved across his mind. The poor kid was feeling hard, frozen-over dirt close over him-- he thought Amanda was going to die and was trying to predict what that would feel like. 

Cut the crap, kid, Martin snarled at him, but he stopped when Gripps mentally head-butt him. 

Don't yell at him! he roared. Martin felt the edges of a meltdown in all of them, but right now, they didn't have the luxury of time to cool off nor an abandoned building to smash up. They would just have to hang on until Amanda was safe, warm, and cared for. 

Listen, boys. Drummer's strong. She'll be fine, but we gotta get her out of the cold unless we want her gettin' worse. 

He felt a cautious agreement from Cross, who spoke up after gathering himself. Hands shook in his mindscape. 

We need to get her she, safe... he nodded, and Martin covered his shaking hands with his warm, firm ones. 

Good call, Cross. Let's get to a hotel or somethin', we got enough cash to last awhile. 

He strode back into the van, packing away his nervous energy and lifting his chin. He had to be in charge now, even as a lurking meltdown licked like flames at the edges of a piece of newsprint.


	6. Sick, part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Here's another chapter. I have karate during the week and so haven't been able to update as often as I like, but my instructor is getting married, so I should be updating more frequently in life of going to karate. I want these chapters to be longer, though... do you guys think I should keep focusing on shorter chapters, or go longer th less frequent updates? Let me know!

Amanda couldn't help but curl into Gripps' warmth as he carried her close, like a lion carrying a cub. The fever had grown worse, and she ached all over. She couldn't remember a time where she felt this, well, gross, to put it simply. Sure, she dealt with pararibulitis-- which was a million times worse, obviously. But those were quick jolts of terror and pain, whereas this nasty cold had left her with malaise for a few weeks now. The rowdies never really complained about any situation they found themselves in; she didn't want to look weak in front of them, and so had decided to adopt a 'suck-it-up-and-deal' mentality. 

That wasn't very far from her usual mentality, but still. 

It'd started with a stuck, sticky feeling in her throat, which spread to her sinuses after a few miserable days. That lead to shakes from the chill that wouldn't let up no matter how many layers she pulled on. The same went for Martin's suspicious looks-- it seemed every time she happened across his field of vision, his mouth pulled down into a frown and his brows furrowed. She'd wished he would lay off with that concerned expression... even now, she felt distinctly uncomfortable with all of the rowdies' attention on her. She was absolutely fine-- no help was needed. 

"Gripps, I promise you, I'm fine. Now lemme down, you big--" she found herself cut off as she was dropped unceremoniously onto the hotel bed, bouncing a little. Gripps actually growled at her when she went to get up, and so she wisely stayed down, arms crossed. 

Martin, Cross, and Vogel returned a few minutes later, Martin chuckling as Gripps stood imposingly over Amanda. She obviously wasn't going anywhere on his watch, and martin decided to tease her a bit. 

"Aw, Drummer. Does mean ol' Gripps got you beat?" he laughed, pinching her cheek. She batted his hand away, scowling. "Shut up, douchebag."

Vogel was chomping at the bit to help, practically bouncing out of his skin as he wiggled. Cross gave him a firm deep-pressure hug to calm down his overstimulated system and leaned down a bit to talk to him. 

"Okay, little man. What we got here is ya standard illness, but a little worse... so we gotta get stuff to make her feel better, like soup and shit." Vogel's eyes went huge and he bopped on his toes.

"I know h-how to make a really really nice pho, that'll clear up her sin-- sinuses, yeah, Cross?" he stumbled over his words but bulldozed though, panting and looking up at Cross with a wide grin. Cross ruffled his hair, affectionately rough with him. 

"Kid, that sounds like a great idea."


	7. Sick, part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't forget about this! I've got some other fics in the works, but expect this to go on for a long time-- I have a lot of plans for these rowdies. <3

“--How many kinds of soup are there?!” Cross snarled. He winced at the clattering of shopping carts and shrilling voices of harried mothers, rocking back on his feet helplessly. He hated feeling overstimulated, and even with his hands clapped over his ears, the sounds were still barely bearable. 

He got a few looks, but baring his teeth like an animal helped to satisfy the growing anger while scaring the other patrons just a bit, and Vogel looked up at him gratefully from his spot tucked against Cross' side. 

"Thanks," he mumbled, chewing on the collar of his leather jacket. He didn't think about the germs likely creeping into the jacket as he mouthed at it; right now, it was the only thing keeping him on his two feet and not bowling over displays of apples stacked up together. He consulted the scrawled list in his hand. It was rife with misspellings and written with Vogel's own shaking hands. None of the rowdies had much experience with education due to Blackwing.

Picking out chicken stock-- the real stuff, not any of this white people stuff-- from the dozens of identical boxes was a pain, and the overload was getting worse and worse on the both of them, wearing on their very bones. 

It really was inevitable when Cross smacked a soup can out of a toddler's hand. The grubby little creature was banging it incessantly against the shopping cart, driving Cross to act. The kid's mother gasped, but Cross' wild-eyed grin shut her up. Vogel dragged him away before he could use that particular soup can to make a big dent in that woman's head. 

He felt a strong hand press on his shoulder and turned to stare at Gripps. He was holding him the way Cross held Vogel when he was about to explode... it'd been a long, long time since he'd had any release for his emotions, and he swallowed, spit thick in his throat as Gripps squeezed his shoulder tight. 

"Get back to the hotel and hug Martin," Gripps said gruffly. His tone left no room for Cross to refuse, and he nodded, head bowed. 

\---

Getting back to base was torture. Every step brought him closer to Martin and Amanda and away from the supermarket, sure, but he had to deal with barking dogs and screaming kids playing in their backyards and lawn mowers and passing cars and, and, and...

He was completely out of his element. 

Cross was Martin's second-in-command. He served to calm down the others or rile them up, and he loved each and every one of his family, including Drummer Girl. But right now, he was in need of care. It hurt to admit it to himself, but he did... and he was fairly certain both Martin and Drummer would agree. 

He all but staggered into the hotel room, grimacing when Amanda gasped a little at the sight of him. He knew he looked a mess, but he couldn't be bothered to care-- not until he felt firm arms wrap tight around him. 

Martin pulled him in like a large ship tugging a skiff from open sea. His scent, that of cigarette smoke and pine, wound something up tight in Cross' chest, and he shocked himself by letting out a sob. Rowdies didn't cry. 

Well... sometimes, Vogel cried his eyes out from the devastating loneliness he had felt before finding his brothers. And sometimes, Gripps mourned his lost family with a few shed tears. And... even Martin cried from the plaguing nightmares that sunk deep into his brain from memory. 

But Cross was tough. He didn't really let anything get to him, just stayed manic and fast and sharp, all bared teeth and twisted smiles. His default setting? Angry. Vengeful. Ready to rip into whomever stood between him and his freedom. The only thing that had held him back from crushing Riggins in between his teeth was Martin's voice calling him to calm down. Obeying was the hardest thing he'd had to do. 

 

Martin's low voice rasped against his ears. "Hey, Cross. We'll get you settled. Let's siddown, yeah?" He felt himself nod without really thinking about it, a distressed whimper tearing twelfth from his throat when Martin stopped hugging him. He needed that haptic communication, that sense of touch to provide kinship. and brotherhood and the love that bound the rowdies together. People often thought they were held together by their hatred of the world around them, but this simply wasn't true; they were the only ones who understood each other on such an intimate, intense level. 

There was a reason they called themselves brothers. 

Cross clung to Martin's wrist. Martin's hand swung up to stroke at his hair, and Amanda didn't miss the way he didn't flinch. Earlier, when she had first boarded their van and began introductions, she'd reached out to shake Cross' hand. He'd cringed back against the seat, Martin murmuring that he was "still getting over some shit, Drummer", and not to do that again until they were more familiar. 

Now, it seemed touch was the only thing keeping Cross grounded to reality. 

Amanda took a chance. She curled her hand snugly against Cross', intertwining his roughened fingers in hers.  
He stiffened for a second, but didn't move except to squeeze just a little tighter. His tears stopped quickly.

Martin grinned at her over Cross' bowed head tucked into his chest. He would be just fine.

They all would.


	8. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, it's been too long! I got caught up in another special interest (Steam Powered Giraffe), hence the lack of updates. Though I may jump between stories, don't worry! I'll continue to update this as often as I'm inspired to. :D

“The stars lean down to kiss you, and I lie awake and miss you… pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere,” The radio sang, static prickling at the edges of the melody. Amanda shifted in her seat with a sleepy murmur, and Gripps rubbed at his eyes. He was bone-tired.

Amanda was definitely on the mend, thank god. They’d had to leave the hotel after running out of funds to pay for the room, but at that point, she was feeling much better. Vogel’s famous pho had seen to her recovery, Gripps thought. A hot meal was the best thing to raise anyone’s spirits… 

His mind flashed back to his wife’s decadent biscuits and gravy. That used to be his favorite meal back when he had a house and a car and the best damn dog he’d ever loved in his life. He and his wife would curl into each other by the heater, for they’d been too broke to afford a fireplace, and he’d smell her hair. Like roses, it was, but no one would accuse her of having any thorns. She could make a dark cloud pass by just by smiling.

Gripps settled a hand over his face. It wasn’t often he indulged in thoughts of the past; it broke him up like a weathered piece of driftwood washed up from the sea, scoured by salt and rain and wind. 

This time, it felt like sinking.

Amanda startled awake to hear muffled sobbing, and it shocked her all the more to hear who it was. “Gripps…?” 

She edged closer to him. All of the others were fast asleep, exhausted from a long week, so no one but Amanda would have to know. He grabbed her up in a hug, clinging like a drowning man.

Hugging him was akin to hugging a space heater. Gripps always seemed to be arm making Vogel call him a “big old teddy bear!” Though his hugs for Amanda were few and far between, the sentiment behind them touched her, warming her to the core. He was skittish with new people, Martin had advised, much like Cross. But where Cross was physically avoidant, Gripps was emotionally withdrawn. He didn’t allow anyone too close, least of all Amanda. She wasn’t part of his family ne so was not to be trusted. What if she hurt them?

But now? Amanda felt like she was as close to him as any of the others. He sobbed into her shoulder, and she squeezed him. 

“Shhh, Gripps. Hey, man. You’ll be okay, let it out…” she soothed, rubbing his back through his jacket. He shuddered and shivered.

Martin poked his head over the seat, saw Amanda holding Gripps, and nodded to her. He an back down to try to get more sleep.

There were things missing, Gripps thought. But there was so much more to find.


	9. Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mor of this to come, possibly tonight!

“Project Incubus is coming along nicely,” one faceless white lab coat says. The other man-- vested, with a ball cap and facial hair, but V doesn't know his name-- nods and peers down at the child crouched in front of him. V exposes his teeth languidly, all bark and no bite. He doesn't like the way the man looks at him.

They all look at him like that, like he's a caged animal. He hates it.

He settled in the corner of his little cell, snuggled into his cushion and clutching at his blankets. They were the only things he really owned, aside from a few chew necklaces. These had been given to him when they’d found him gnawing ceaselessly at his wrist, eyes glazed over. 

A tentative link made contact. It was M, the man V thought of as his protector.

M asked, concern leaching into his thoughts. V mentally shrugged, feeling loose as an abandoned piece of rope. They’d injected him with some sort of medicine, but it didn't make him feel better, just compliant. The fever wasn’t breaking yet.

Another connection, this time G and C. G told him. 

\---

V wakes up to the taste of freedom on his tongue. He’s slung over M’s back, M loping along gently across a field. The rhythmic rocking soothes his need for vestibular input, and he sinks back into sleep. 

The next memory is of G-- Gripps, he calls himself-- prodding a spoon to his lips. His face twists at the artificial cherry coating his throat but when he swallows it down, a strong pair of arms scoops him up and he’s held to Gripp’s chest. He clutches at the warm, yielding leather there, and Gripps rumbles a laugh, kissing the top of his head. 

A few days pass in fracture, and then the fever breaks and he takes in his surroundings. He’s surrounded by his family; Martin, Cross, and Gripps. Martin’s the oldest at approximately twenty-five years, followed by Gripps at twenty-two. Then there’s Cross, a gangly nineteen, and finally Vogel, the youngest by far at ten. He curls into them, relishing the human contact and the warmth, and he’s hugged and cuddled and he thinks, family, family, family, over and over, until the word has no meaning at all but them.

\---

Vogel wakes up with a scream in his throat, and he’s ten years old again. Gripps is holding him to his chest and smoothing down his cowlicks, murmuring music. Cross soon joins, offering a hug, and then Martin finally emerges from the dim van to sit beneath the stars.

Amanda. She’s there, too, suddenly, like a shadow in the flames of a smolder. She tucks her chin over Vogel’s head and rocks him, and he settles in close. 

Family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons for their ages ten from (and slightly adjusted) by Pardox Tissue by Dorkangel. Read it here; I haven't finished it, but so far it's lovely! 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/9490496/chapters/21474989#main


	10. Note

Hey everyone! I’ve decided to end this fic off here-- only because I want to make it into a series!!! I want to cover Dirk’s autism too, among other things, and it feels right to set this one down here. But worry not, there will definitely be more autistic!Rowdy 3 centered fics! I’ll incorporate this into a series I’ll call “Family”, because that was a major running theme in this work. Can’t wait to keep going on lengthier, differently-formatted fics for these guys! -Em

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts welcome! Send 'em here or on Tumblr. I'm at dashing-hyphen.


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